


A Visitor to the Abbey

by saladcannibal



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Curse of Strahd, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saladcannibal/pseuds/saladcannibal
Summary: A priest from Vallaki pays a visit to the Abbey of St Markovia to find out if the dark rumors that surround the place and its abbot are true.Intended to take place at least a couple decades before the start of the module.
Kudos: 4





	A Visitor to the Abbey

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I changed the lore for my campaign, and this fic is based on the lore I used, SO. Forgive me. He uses fresh parts and was on Vasilka #8 by the start of the campaign. SO PROUD.  
> Also I made the Abbot's god Ilmater, to match our cleric. Turned out to be a very fun choice.

The air was colder and thinner in Krezk than Father Isai was used to, and he shivered beneath the heavy winter mantle he’d borrowed from the Martikovs at the Wizards of Wine Winery along the way. His bad leg ached from the cold. He had never considered how sequestered Vallaki was, nestled low between mountains on all sides. Here the wind blew in directly from the mists and carried an almost supernatural chill.

The priest introduced himself and his purpose at the gates and was let through promptly. A guard led him to an overgrown path that sloped sharply up the mountain Krezk folded against and gestured forward, declaring the Abbey of St Markovia was at the end.

“You won’t be accompanying me?” Father Isai asked.

The guard shook his head. “I’m stationed at the gate, and most of the others are in training for the next few hours.” Reading Father Isai’s expression, he continued, “If you would feel more comfortable, you could wait for them to be done, but I assure you, he’s not dangerous. Just...eccentric.”

Father Isai waved away the concern, though memories of the stories he’d heard from those in his congregation who had sought healing at the abbey...they sent a chill up his spine. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I don’t want to be any trouble to you.”

He bid the guard farewell and began up the path. It was narrow, and branches from a tightly knit web of trees, bushes, and underbrush invaded the space so completely that they dragged across the priest on both sides, tugging at his robes and mantle, tickling and scratching his face. The sensation reminded him of accidentally walking into a spider’s web, but rather than being over in an instant as the web collapsed, this continued for the full 40 minutes it took him to reach the abbey at the end of the path. By the time he got there, his knee was throbbing.

The abbey was guarded by a rotting iron gate set between two worn stone walls. Dead moss clung to the grout. Frost dusted the wide courtyard beyond, but not a soul stirred. There were soft lights in some of the windows. If there hadn’t been, he’d have assumed the place abandoned, though he knew it wasn’t.

“Hello?” Isai called out. His feeble voice echoed, and was immediately answered by a rustle of fabric before a squat shadow came ambling towards him. It walked on two legs, but its silhouette wasn’t human. Father Isai’s mouth went dry as he realized, in that moment, that there was truth to the rumors.

Something that was no longer a man stood before Father Isai on the other side of the gate. About half of its face was still recognizably human, but marbled across its skin were grey-green scales, and its nose and mouth protruded into more of a snout, out of which poked twisted fangs. Both eyes were human, light brown. It wore a cloak that covered most of its form, but feet poked out from beneath the hem. One was a paw, Father Isai guessed of a wolf. The other was a cloven hoof. The priest’s gut twisted, and he was deeply ashamed of this when a moment later he remembered that this man  _ was in fact human _ . A human being, victim to the sick machinations of the man who had taken control of this once holy place. The man who worked anonymously, as if he were aware of the evil he wrought and somehow couldn’t bear to take credit even as he furthered his purposes. The man Father Isai sought audience with today.

“Hello, sir,” Father Isai addressed the poor soul. “I wish to speak with your abbot. Is he available?”

The fellow glanced over his shoulder at the building closest to them, then looked back at the priest. “I think so…….Who are you?” His voice was a rasping whisper.

“You may call me Father Isai. I am the priest of the Church of St Andral, in Vallaki.”

A soft gasp. “Oh, a priest.”

“And what is your name?”

The creature hesitated. “Vlad…”

“Vlad. A pleasure to meet you.” He held out a hand, and barely succeeded in suppressing the cry of alarm that tried to burst from him when, rather than anything belonging to a human, a  _ hawk’s  _ talon gripped his hand and gave it a firm shake.

“This way. This way.” Vlad opened the iron gate, which shrieked as if it were in immense pain, and led Father Isai to a small, walled-in courtyard where a few other chimerical creatures busied about with upsettingly ordinary domestic chores. They went through wooden double doors that led into a quaint hall with a long, simple wooden table in its center. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was warm. Father Isai sighed and shrugged off his mantle with relief. He hoped the warmth would do something for his aching leg. After slinging the cloak over a chair, he went to the fire and held his numb fingers as close as he could tolerate.

Vlad scurried up the staircase to the second floor and was speaking with someone in soft murmurs. With the cold banished, Father Isai was able to concentrate better and observed his surroundings more closely. There was not one holy symbol decorating the walls, but  _ two _ . The first was, as he’d expected, the ten-rayed sun of the Morning Lord. The second, a pair of pale hands bound in red rope. Father Isai swallowed and wondered what pagan entity this man worshipped.

Footsteps set the wooden staircase creaking as a young man in worn, but well cared for, monks robes descended the steps behind Vlad. The latter scurried out, presumably back to his post, as the man came closer and offered Father Isai a gentle smile, which the priest found himself returning. He hadn’t been aware the abbot had taken on an apprentice, and the prospect of him corrupting the youth of Krezk worried him greatly. Father Isai would have placed the man in his late twenties, delicate featured and handsome. Despite the tortured creatures outside, the warmth in the apprentice’s dark eyes put the priest at ease, and he immediately resolved to convince him to leave the influence of the abbot and either return to Krezk or else join the church in Vallaki.

The apprentice spoke. His voice was soft, while the cadence was stilted and slow as if he had to consider each word carefully before committing to it. “Vlad informed me that you’re a priest from Vallaki. Hopefully you find our home at the Abbey of St Markovia welcoming, modest though it is. How can I help you?”

“I was hoping to speak to your abbot. Is he not available now? Vlad suggested he might be.”

The man smiled in a way that at once suggested amusement and confusion. He stared at the priest for longer than was strictly speaking necessary, which negated any effect the warmth of his gaze induced previously. He spread his arms out to the sides and said, “He is available. I am him.”

Father Isai faltered a moment before he said, “O-oh… I’m sorry, I hadn’t...realized something had happened to your master...that is to say, the man who was the abbot before you.”

The way the new abbot tilted his head reminded Father Isai of the ravens outside, and the priest could practically  _ see _ the cogs turning in the man’s head as he tried to process what had been said. For the life of him, Father Isai couldn’t see what there was to figure out, what hadn’t been said clearly or what he was missing. He had no way to help the other come to his conclusion.

At last, the abbot said simply, “There’s only been me, for decades now.” The way he said it made it seem almost like a question, or perhaps a request, though the phrase didn’t lend itself well to either function.

Father Isai furrowed his brow. ‘ _ For decades now’ _ , but the young man was barely decades old himself, unless he were a vampire or an elf. But his ears were rounded, he had no visible fangs, and his complexion was full of color, unlike the pallor of the undead. As baffled as he was, the priest was increasingly certain he was not going to get much of an explanation even if he  _ were _ to ask for clarification. Father Isai coughed and nodded. He smiled, but it felt forced. “Ah, I see,” he said, although he did not.

The abbot smiled and came closer, right up to the fire and beside Father Isai, eyes on his guest the entire way. His walk was graceful, in a way that struck the priest as rather discordant with his fractured rhythm of speech. And yet, as he came closer, Father Isai had to resist an instinctual urge to back away. He was beginning to feel quite certain that  _ everything _ the congregation had accused was indeed true.

“How can I help you, Father…?”

“Isai.”

“Father Isai.” 

“... And what might I call you?”

“My title is sufficient.”

“Ah… Well… If you insist. In any case, I came because several of my congregation have sought healing here, and they’ve brought back...strange and  _ concerning  _ stories, to say the least.”

“What have they said?”

“Well, the first I have confirmed, and that is that your abbey is populated by nervous chimerical creatures. The second is that as payment, in lieu of coin, you demand...how shall I phrase this… They say you demand a part of their body, ranging from limbs to organs, and sometimes both.”

“This is true,” the abbot said readily, and without the least hint of surreptitiousness.

Father Isai stared at him wide eyed. He had at this point expected the claim to be true, and had hoped to gain a confession, but…

“Why? And...how can you possibly stomach collection?  _ Do  _ you collect, or is this just some kind of sick joke to you?” Father Isai failed to keep the anger from seeping into his tone.

“I do collect, as needed. It’s more practical for all involved that I only take what I need when I need it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“What  _ on earth _ do you need human body parts for?”

“That’s not really your concern, is it?”

Father Isai laughed and gaped at the man. “Not my concern? It’s any person’s concern! And on top of that I’m a priest. The people of the valley are like my own children. If you are harming them... What are you doing to them? And what possible justification can you fucking have?” Father Isai couldn’t remember the last time he’d sworn, though he didn’t think he’d take it back if given the chance. “And the third rumor--the screams that can be heard at night--I suppose that’s a result of your ‘collection’, isn’t it?”

“It’s only natural. Oneself is not so easily parted with.”

Father Isai stammered. His face grew hot, and he found it incredibly difficult not to physically lash out at the man. The priest was not violent, but the abbot tested both his patience and morals. The worst part of it was that he hardly seemed to notice or care.

“So you take what you want, as they lie there  _ screaming _ .”

“I take what I’m  _ owed _ . Nothing more.”

“And nothing less.”

He shrugged. “That depends on the year.”

Father Isai counted his breaths and tried to keep his head as the fire sputtered in the hearth. The room felt much too hot, and he adjusted his collar. When he spoke, his voice came out strange, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “How many...how many die here, by your hands?”

“None.”

Isai laughed. “I don’t believe that.”

“But it’s true, regardless.” He fixed Father Isai with a pitying look. “I understand, of course. The truth is never accepted easily by mortals.”

“ _ By mortals _ ? You believe yourself a god, is that it? This profane holy symbol is yours, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, what is it then? What truths do us mere mortals refuse to accept?”

The abbot looked into the fire, his gaze distant. He was like that for long enough that Father Isai began to wonder if he’d forgotten he was even there, despite standing right next to him. The priest glanced at the door, but as he moved to leave, the abbot finally spoke.

“The main thing...is that you see a single lifetime as having this supreme value. A mortal life--any life, really--only has value in that it aligns the being’s soul. When that life is over, the alignment is set, and the soul travels to its plane of rest--if it was on another plane in the first place--and is further prepared until it is ready to be consumed by a god. Aside from alignment, mortal lives serve no purpose--besides of course worship, which the gods need in addition to souls.”

“ _ What _ ?!”

“Life the way mortals see it is short and finite, but the truth is that every life is merely a segment in a soul’s existence, as it fulfills its role in...how to describe it…in this cosmic machine. Even on the material plane, death is hardly permanent. Any temple can offer limited resurrection, for a price, as can I. Barovia itself is ruled by a vampire, the undead.” He laughed to himself. “Though, I suppose with the mists, the lives of Barovians are very different. There is no afterlife, only rebirth. Even then, this life is only a fraction of the soul’s total experience here. But without an end purpose… I think I’m beginning to understand.”

“Morning Lord, you are  _ insane _ .”

“I’m not, I assure you.”

Father Isai was not assured. He took a slow, deep breath, through the nose, and said what he’d come to say. “The work you do here is  _ evil _ . You cannot outweigh the harm you cause by manipulating desperate people into giving you what you ‘need’, and I cannot imagine what unholy source you draw your power from. This goes against the teachings of the Morning Lord. Life is sacred, and you toy with it.”

The abbot grinned at him. Father Isai lurched forward, grabbed the man by his robes and shook him. He wanted to do much worse, but he managed to control himself. His knee twinged painfully beneath him, and he found himself partially leaning on the abbot for support. The other made no move to stop him or remove himself from Isai’s grip.

“I condemn you and this place. I denounce you--you and your recreant practice. You are not welcome within the faith of the Morning Lord. You are not welcome amongst good people. Release your prisoners, and cease your depravity.”

The abbot laughed.

“My flock? They’re not being kept here. They’re free to leave whenever they want.”

“I don’t believe you,” Father Isai growled and his grip on the abbot’s robes tightened.

The abbot hummed, brought both hands up to cup Father Isai’s face, angled the priest's head down, and softly kissed his forehead. A strange, liquid warmth radiated from every true point of contact between the two. It was like a strong shot of liquor had hit his belly, but it started in his face instead of his gut. The instant he was over the shock, Father Isai shoved the other away.

“ _ Fucking lunatic _ ,” he hissed as he stormed for the door. He heard the abbot say “you’re welcome” before the door closed behind him.

Father Isai passed through the courtyard without seeing it. His face was boiling, and the cold didn’t reach him. He must certainly have been something to behold, his face likely having passed through several shades of red to purple. He rushed down the narrow path, allowing gravity to pull his body back down to the village.

Some of the villagers stared at him, not shy enough to stop when he met their eyes. He leaned against the wall of a home that also served as a tavern and breathed, trying to calm himself. It was only when his pulse settled to a resting rate that he noticed, his bad leg didn’t hurt at all.


End file.
